How the Cookie Crumbles
by AlannasTara
Summary: Injured, Daryl seeks help from Carol, instead of the local doctor. Oneshot. For Silver-89 on tumblr. Bonus Sam interaction.


**Disclaimer: I do not own or profit from TWD, the characters, or the stories. No copyright infringement intended.**

 _AN: Written for the lovely silver-89 on tumblr, who wanted Injured!Daryl, Daryl & Sam interaction, and Caryl. :-)_

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He sat at the kitchen table, blood dripping down his arm where he held it up above his shoulder, trying to stem the flow with one of those fancy blue and white striped hand-towels they had, _especially for the kitchen_. Pffft. He'd been skinning animals almost all his life and never slipped up like he had today. He thought it'd be fine. He'd just ripped up some cloth, wrapped it around his arm and covered it with duct tape. No big deal.

Wrong.

He was bleeding like a stuck pig, with no signs of it stopping any time soon and he was beginning to feel light-headed.

"Stubborn man," Carol said as she walked around the corner with some supplies to stitch him up. "You know good and well that you needed stitches. Why didn't you go see Pete?" Her eyebrow raised as she leveled the question at him, preparing to assess his wound.

"Ain't goin' near that prick." Daryl huffed, "'Sides, you've done it before, can do it again."

"So, you know? About Pete?"

Daryl raised his eyes to meet Carol's, confusion in his gaze. "Know what? That he's an asshole? Could tell that right off," Daryl muttered, his eyes drooping as he relaxed and let Carol's hands drift over his skin, gentle and soothing in her ministrations.

"He hits Jessie." Carol spoke the words almost in a whisper, feeling them like a punch to the gut. No matter that she'd said them before. It was reliving a nightmare. Flashes of her past life, memories dimming behind her eyes...the blood, the fists, the shattered glass, and broken sobs when she thought no one could hear her.

She felt Daryl freeze beneath her fingertips, the tension in his body rippling in angry waves. His entire being held still, like a trapped animal, and briefly she wondered if he was caught up in flashbacks of his own past.

His voice broke through the silence, asking, "S'that why the boy's always over here?"

He spoke as if from far away, like he was there with her, but not really present, somewhere deep in his thoughts. Before she could answer him, there was a light knocking and Carol paused what she was doing long enough to answer the door.

Daryl could just hear her voice in the background, a strange, hollow ring to it, and he knew she was talking to the kid he'd just mentioned. He held the gauze Carol had placed over his wound to his arm and closed his eyes, fighting not to lose himself in the past. He heard footsteps approach. Two sets. One lithe and graceful, quiet. The other was clumsier, more exuberant, with the squeak of rubber tennis shoes against the polished floor giving it away.

He opened his eyes to see the kid looking at him, holding a plate of cookies, lumpy and misshapened, like he'd baked them himself.

"Want a cookie?" The kid asked, holding the plate out to him. "Made 'em myself." He confirmed Daryl's suspicions, and glanced up towards Carol, seeking approval, while Carol picked up where she left off, cleaning Daryl's arm.

"Maybe later, kid, once Carol's patched me up." Daryl directed his eyes towards his arm, and Sam's eyes opened wide, seeing the large amount of blood.

"My dad could fix you," Sam offered, not really meeting anyone's gaze.

"I think I'd rather have Carol fix me up, she's used to it," Daryl responded with a derisive chuckle, hoping to ease the kid's mind.

"I don't blame you," Sam muttered to the floor. "She's a lot nicer."

Daryl looked sharply at Carol and they shared a look of concern before Carol responded, trying to lighten the mood.

"Carol is sitting right here," she quirked a look at the two of them, a small smirk playing at her lips.

Daryl chuckled and Sam smiled, forgetting the matter of his dad altogether in the moment.

Carol started putting the stitches in and Sam grew worried, his little brow wrinkling in concern as Daryl grunted each time the needle pierced his skin.

"Sam, on second thought, why dontcha bring me one a those cookies. I leaked so much blood all over here, I'm 'bout to pass out on the table face down in my own drool." Daryl motioned with his other hand to Sam and grinned, taking Sam's attention off of what Carol was doing to his arm.

Sam passed Daryl a cookie, coming to stand a bit closer to him, and watched closely for the man's reaction to his attempt at baking. Daryl shoved half the treat in his mouth, crumbs falling past his chin and skittering down his shirt. He looked to Sam and smiled while trying to chew the cookie.

"Needs more chocolate," he mumbled through his mouthful, and winked at the kid. Sam looked up at Carol, his eyes pleading and begging, matched perfectly to an adult set of puppy dog eyes right next to him.

Carol smiled, looking back down to her stitches, before laughing.

"I think I can manage that."


End file.
